Grickle-grass
by tamba243
Summary: A tree falls the way it leans, and as a certain Thneed salesman knows, it will never stand up again.


For a complete version of above image, go to Deviantart, add to url: /art/Gtfo-plz-560905646

Note- Biggering-level dark.

* * *

It was hideous. It looked no better now than it had decades ago.

The hills stretched away into the smog, brownish-gray and covered in a stubble-like layer of dried tree stumps. Beyond the blackish river, the walled-in town of Thneedville sat far off at the east end of the valley, a few roads snaking away into the distance. The road leading up to the pathetic fragment of my factory was decaying, lined with old billboards, rusting Axe-Hackers and plastic trash tangled in the Grickle-grass.

The great Thneed factory that had once towered over the landscape was gone. Just a handful of years after production stopped, a heavy storm had blown in one evening. The ground, stripped of tree roots to hold the soil together, had given way and the unmaintained support beams had collapsed. I had raced outside in the driving rain, panicked, to see my greatest achievement fall away into the gorge with deafening crashes and screeches of metal. The hill was now a cliff, with only a single minute section of the building perched on it: my living quarters. And just out front, the UNLESS stones. I'd started laughing miserably, thinking the Lorax had sent the storm to punish me further.

My fortune had vanished. All of the thneed money, over $35 million in total, had been lost. Some had driven away in my family's RV, some had gone to the town of Thneedville as compensation for laid-off workers and to finish the renovations, but most had simply gone down the drain of debt. I'd gotten a little too confident in my investments in the company.

So I became a prisoner, in the world I had created.

I knew I had to be at least partially insane by now. I had nowhere to go, no one to contact, nothing to do. The hectic days of conferences, business reports and promotional tours were a memory as hazy as the sky.

Boredom was near-constant. The old Strat had finally given up the ghost not too long ago. I played solitaire, or wrote, or tinkered with the bits of old factory machinery left scattered around the broken hill. Maintenance of the place was always a constant task, of course. Sometimes I ventured out into the hills, looking for signs of recovery, but that was growing less frequent. It was too depressing. I often sang to myself, but my voice was getting gravelly. Too much smog. And all those cigars probably hadn't helped either.

A few creatures still remained; feeding on what I could only assume was the Grickle-grass. Moths, and beetles, and snails. Anyone would have called them vermin in the good old days, but I couldn't help but admire the tough little guys, as long as they stayed out of my scanty food stores. The desk in the top room held a number of snail shells and patterned moth wings- they were lovely.

Occasionally a few crows would hang around, their noisy antics breaking the silence and giving me some entertainment. They didn't seem to warm up to me, though, and would never approach the house if they saw me. I didn't dare waste food on them. I wondered why they had chosen this desolate place to hang out.

" _Look, it's some circling birds,"_ I would half-joke. " _I bet you that they're going to eat our corpses!"_

I'd actually tried snaring one for food once, unsuccessfully. Starvation was rarely far from my mind, as I didn't trust the town at all. Some poetic justice for the Bar-ba-loots, no doubt. Water was another concern. With no trees, the climate had become drier, the rains growing weaker and less predictable.

It all seemed like a fever dream. An incredible five-year high, of camera flashes, limousine rides, admiring crowds. I had been so very, very proud of myself. I was better than the rest of my miserable hick family. I would change the world. People would be in awe of me. They _had_ been. The Thneeds Inc. logo had been on practically every vertical surface in town.

The Once-ler. The new revolutionary. Tall, attractive, trendy. The green suit had been my own design. Green to match the name Greenville, green like cash. I'd had to make an _impression_ on people.

And now I sat here, abandoned, forgotten, wasting away. Me, a seed and a little circle of stones.

With no calendars in the building and the sunlight obscured by smog, I no longer had a decent sense of time. The only real indicators I had were the annual rains, and my own body. I guessed I was in my mid-to-late forties by now, as my hair was starting to gray. But there was no point in keeping track, really. I had no future.

Sometimes I wondered what would have happened had things turned out differently. Could I have lived a successful life, with another invention, perhaps, or my music? Would I have ever encountered the forest, or the Lorax, at all? Would I have gotten married, or had a family of my own? I'd never really been interested in the idea, but that's what a man is supposed to do, right?

I don't know…I'd just assumed that there would always be more, just on the far side of the most distant hill. I hadn't been aware that the Truffula forest was such a singular ecosystem. It wasn't like the thin forests scattered widely across the Northern plains; it was a compact, unique habitat. There were maps of the region, but nothing about the amount of tree cover. Apparently no one had really cared enough to determine it. I'd been a bit uneasy, but…I'd kept pushing it to the back of my mind. Some other day, I'd look into it. There were profits to enjoy. Certain…furry nuisances to keep away.

I knew now that the Lorax had been trying to tell me the whole time. He'd been trying to say that maybe, just maybe, dumping the furnace residue in the river wasn't such a bright idea. Maybe I shouldn't be assuming the land could take anything I threw at it. Maybe I shouldn't have taken the phrase "The solution to pollution is dilution" so deeply to heart.

My mother's insistence on cutting the trees down…I'd been uneasy for a few days. If she hadn't thought of it, would I have done it myself?

I think I would have. I wanted success _now, fast._ And I'd quickly made an adjustment to the factory blueprint: burning the oil-rich Truffula wood as fuel, cutting the cost of coal imports. Now I'd had a real reason to clear-cut them. And I'd need something that could quickly and efficiently do that. Within half a year, I'd patented the Super-Axe-Hacker. None of the rest of my family would have had the brains for something like that. I was on a roll, I was taking charge, and nothing was going to get in my way. The animals could adapt. Sure, the oils in the wood were toxic, but the sky is a big place.

I took many citizens of Greenville as employees. Hah! Now I'd had others' livelihoods to point out to the Lorax. The town was growing more and more dependent on my business. New roads and infrastructure were being set up. Thneeds were being shipped for export overseas. Money was pouring in.

Money. I'd loved the stuff. It was my drug. I didn't even spend it carelessly; it was just so gratifying to see it piling up. I'd been obsessed with finding ways to bigger profits and cut costs, regardless of the fact that I was the only thneed producer in existence. I'd cut corners on safety measures. I'd lowered the wages of my workers. With my family's involvement I'd set up a fake charity under the company name. Paying the lawyers had been a minor expense, and their successful defenses had given us confidence.

I'd _needed_ more money, because it wasn't really money; it was success. Of course, my family spent as much as they could get their paws on, but I'd jealously kept the majority. I was _entitled_ to it. I'd show them how it felt to be at the bottom. It was such a heady feeling to have your older brothers as little more than servants.

And now at this point I had no use for money, except possibly as kindling. The town of Thneedville would periodically send me food and basic supplies, as I _was_ still the town's founder, and that worthless little mayor had to keep a decent image. I knew better than anyone the importance of good P.R.

I was not allowed in town. I presumed that the wall had been built partially for that reason. Ruined or not, I was still seen as a threat to the new dominant corporation. The thought flattered me a little. And indeed, I had a weapon. Unfortunately I could see no way of putting it to use.

For weeks after it had ended, I'd searched the work floor and grounds of the silent factory, refusing to think or feel. And in the waste receptacle beside the main furnace, I'd found a shriveled Truffula fruit, containing a viable seed. I'd continued searching, further and further into the hills, as mechanically as an Axe-Hacker making the rounds, until it was undeniable. There was only a single live Truffula seed left. And it would die if I planted it in this place.

I'd thought then of leaving, of trying to start over somehow, but something inside me had rebelled. The only things that mattered were here. This once-beautiful valley had been my home, and it was where I belonged. Abandoning it, after what I had done to it, would have been the ultimate act of contempt. No, I couldn't leave here, ever. And I had settled in. The seed, and the forlorn little stone engraving of UNLESS had given me an odd sense that I wasn't alone.

I yearned for real company, someone to talk to, but whenever a delivery person appeared, I wished that they would leave me be. The sight of them made me angry for some reason. They rarely spoke to me, and I guessed the town still hadn't forgiven me for the mass unemployment and the devastated landscape. I wondered if they still had thneeds, if anyone was still using them, or if all 5.3 million were moldering in landfills, discarded for the next hot new product. I no longer cared anyway. Sometimes I'd throw a few sarcastic remarks at the person, regretting it after they'd gone.

"You miserable bastard! Why didn't you take your money and leave us?" One man had shouted back.

That had shut me up.

One night, unable to sleep, I'd dug out a copy of that oh-so-complacent interview (with the ironic title of "Too Big To Fail") I'd had with Greenville news, at the height of my power. I hadn't dared to read it in years.

 _"Mr. Once-ler, what are your plans for the future? Are you hoping to go global with your thneeds?"_

 _"Absolutely. There's not much point to a business without growth, is there? You've always got to keep- little expression of mine -biggering. The thing is, products get old fast. You've got to keep up with the trends, y'know. That's the strength of thneeds; they can be whatever you want them to be, a true commodity. And how could a product like that become dated?"_

Moron.

 _"You make a good point there. Is that why you use your guitar so often to promote thneeds, to appeal to the younger crowd?"_

 _"Yes, partially. I also just happen to enjoy it. Why not combine your talents?"_

 _"From what I understand, you've gotten a lot of female admirers. How does that make you feel?"_

 _"*laughs* Proud, mostly. As a kid, I never would have dreamed I'd reach this level of recognition. But here's proof. You might not believe it, but I've never really been too much of a "people person". Personal fans are nice, but they don't really mean a whole lot to me."_

That had cost me points. I'd been a bit too honest there.

 _"I'm surprised to hear that! Are you bothered at all by the publicity you're receiving?"_

 _"A bit, back when I was first starting out. It was unfamiliar. But it's positive, and, well, it's pretty easy to get used to that."_

Wow. Not just a moron, but an egotistical jerk as well. And yet…I missed it. Everything was going so wonderfully for me. Modesty was for mortals, not the president of Thneeds Inc. I'd gotten so much, and I'd wanted so much more. My young corporation was growing, and I would soon have an empire. The lush forest I had stumbled across in a humble mule-drawn wagon would give me everything I would need to become a true giant, an entrepreneur, a tycoon.

But I didn't deserve the title of businessman. I knew that now. No rational salesman would be so blinded, so arrogant that he'd run himself into the ground in a frenzy of greed in just half a decade. Replant? Nah, things would work out. I was rich.

I'd told myself over and over, it was for the economy, it was for the townspeople, for the family honor (Ha!) all sorts of excuses to help me sleep at night. But really, I had known all along what my interests were: me.

I was so glad that none of those interviewers could see me now, gaunt and unkempt and half crazy, crows and insects my only companions, taking sponge baths in cloudy, acidic rainwater. They probably didn't even know where I was now, let alone care. Everyone was so fickle.

So fickle, in fact, that I had –very offhandedly- asked a delivery man if the townspeople had any interest in trying to restore the forest, and he had merely scoffed. "Trees!" he exclaimed. "We don't need those. The town's managing just fine without them."

I hadn't brought it up again. I was really starting to dislike people.

My happiest moments were some of the dreams and what I could only guess were hallucinations. The animals or the Lorax would be there to keep me company. I would be back in my office or my cottage, successful and wealthy. I would kill my mother. That was always a nice one. Certain mornings, usually in the dry season, were the worst. The guilt and self-hatred would rise up in my chest and stomach like corrosive acid, actually causing physical discomfort. I would feel nauseous and be unable to get out of bed. The animals…the poor animals. They had to be dead by now. Melvin, and little Pipsqueak…

My fault.

I wanted to die. Really, I had wanted it since the Lorax had left. I wasn't brave, and I just wanted to end it.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't just leap off into the canyon and put an end to the pain. It was an on-and-off struggle; I wanted it so badly. But that little seed I had found…I was the only one who knew about it. And the UNLESS stone was always there, silently nagging and bossing me like its maker.

 _Don't you dare,_ it seemed to say. _You're going to stay right here and think. The Lorax said you were better than this._

 _Damn you,_ I would reply. _Is it so wrong to want to stop hurting?_

 _Then try and fix things, Genius._

 _But I can't! I can't! The valley's poisoned! The town's shut itself away from me! Nobody cares! I'm a broken-down, insane hermit who ruined everything in the first place! Do you think anyone would listen to me?!_

 _That kid seemed interested._

A while ago, when my hair was still 100% black, a young boy had randomly showed up at my doorstep, asking about the Truffula forest that had once been here. I had been suspicious at first, but he'd seemed innocent enough and I'd started to talk, soon finding I couldn't stop. I'd told him all I could remember about the forest, about its sweet-smelling beauty and the animals that had lived there, and the Lorax himself. But I had gotten to the part where it had all been driven away, and his expression had turned darkly confused as he regarded the gray-brown, stump-dotted hills.

I had then mentioned- briefly- that it was my fault and I was in fact the idiotically grinning figure on the old billboards scattered along the road, and he had looked coldly at me before leaving without a word.

"Tell the people I'm sorry!" I had called after him. "Please, kid!"

And I had not even thought to give or show him the seed. I realized that I was just as brainless as I had been in my twenties. The self-loathing had consumed me and impulsively I had seized the razor blade I used for shaving and slashed my wrists and forearms. The pain had been intense and wonderful. And I'd suddenly noticed just how much I was bleeding.

It had been the moment of truth. I had a choice to make.

I'd had to think about it for a while, and then thinking had gotten kind of difficult.

 _The seed._

 _What about it?_

 _What's going to happen to it?_

 _I don't care._

 _Don't lie to yourself, Oncie._

 _But it's what I'm good at!_

But some part of me had made me stagger up, grab a nearby thneed and wrap it around my arms. Superabsorbent microfibers to the rescue!

 _I hope you're happy._

My memory had largely failed me after that. I remembered lying on the floor, too lightheaded and weak to get up, wondering how I was going to clean all the blood off the floorboards.

I remembered waking up on the bed, seeing my arms bandaged clumsily.

And I remembered having one of the best dreams I'd had in a long time. I was a boy again, early teens, and I was in the dusty little stable behind the farmhouse where I'd spent a lot of my time, to get some time away from the twins. Melvin was there, calm and composed as always. He'd nuzzle me as I sat in his stall for hours, sketching inventions or writing songs on a notepad. And as I scratched between his ears, I'd had that feeling that here was the only family member that truly loved me.

And the realization that he was gone forever due to my actions, when I'd woken up again, nearly made me rip off the bandages and try to get the thing right this time.

I'd killed many of my small pets as a child, by neglecting them (Except for the hamster that Brett had tried using as a tennis ball). Funny. I loved animals yet still ended up treating them like crap. Melvin had been the first that I'd really kept well. Maybe he was just too big to ignore, or maybe it was because I knew that he would someday take me away to seek my fortune, with a brand new invention that would make my name household.

And I'd done it. I always reminded myself, I'd done it! I still vividly remembered driving the Lorax down the office stairwell, snarling in his shocked face that it was perfectly within my rights to cut trees and I was going to cut more, and more, and _MORE!_ And then that last, sickening whack of an ax blade through a trunk. And everything had ended.

Somehow I'd managed to take care of myself, to keep living. I'd stared holes in the ceiling for hours as I often did when I was in a low state. I sang, to remind myself that I had a voice.

"Na na nanana naahhh….sure could go for a cigar right about now…or a marshmallow…or thirty…"

I hadn't remembered bandaging my arms or getting into bed, and for a moment I'd wondered if someone…

I'd dismissed the thought almost as soon as it formed. The townspeople had forgotten me, the delivery people hated my guts, and no one would have been concerned enough to come in the ramshackle house. Heck, the kid had probably been dared by his friends to hike out and see me. I decided that I had patched myself up, later forgetting about it. And the wounds had healed kindly, leaving a crisscross of scars. I didn't want to look at them, and I'd started to wear the green gloves again as a result.

Sometimes, I would forget that they were gloves at all. My arms just happened to be green. I got quite attached to them, not taking them off for days on end. They gave me an identity, a link to the only noteworthy period of my life. I'd carved a nameplate for the front door for the same reason. My name was important to me, because it meant something. It summed up my life. As for a family name…I had none.

It was almost like I was emerging as a new being, some semi-human creature lurking out in the wastes, that the townspeople probably whispered stories about. The Once-ler, the only green thing left in the valley.

And the razor had vanished. I'd started to develop facial hair as a result. It probably would have looked halfway decent if I'd bothered to maintain it. I didn't care.

So my life went on in the desolate valley.

Whenever I could think clearly and muster the willpower, I tried to brainstorm what to do with the seed. I was too afraid to plant it. The toxins had permeated the soil, and only the tough, gnarled stems of Grickle-grass could grow. I had managed to get a couple of potted cacti (imported, obviously) which I left outside to fend largely for themselves. I figured if plants as tough as that couldn't survive the conditions, then I shouldn't bother to hope. So far, they hadn't bit the dust. Neither had I, for that matter.

I knew the Lorax wouldn't have been happy with my ineffectualness in trying to heal the damage to the land. And as much as it fed my self-hatred, I found myself rationalizing why I wasn't trying harder.

 _I'm sorry, Mustache, but it just isn't who I am._

I'd leaned, I'd fallen, and there was no getting back up. I had to find someone, someone unlike me, to take the seed. Someone who was responsible, that the people would listen to. I often thought of that boy, and if he would have cared enough to want to try and bring the trees back.

But I would have to explain to them why it was important, and why I had done what I had done. I would have to confess, really confess. Could I bring myself to do that? And would the person then be willing to accept a challenge from a scumbag like me?

And if they succeeded in getting the seed to grow, would a forest be possible? It wouldn't be nearly as rich as the old one; I didn't know how many small, undiscovered creatures had vanished along with their habitat. Not all of them could leave like the Bar-ba-loots, swans and fish. Everything needed the trees, as the Lorax had said.

But I couldn't disregard his message of UNLESS. He had put it there for me to look at, to try and keep me from taking the easy way out. He wouldn't have left it there if there was no hope.

That hope kept me going. And it was encapsulated in a glossy brown shell, kept dry and secure in the top drawer of the desk. The last Truffula seed. The last one of all.

 _I'll wait. I'm not old yet. Something will change._

All I could do was stay alive.


End file.
